Links of the Chain
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Ji'nara's place on the Chain of Ascension was secure. But after her failures at Tyrador IX and Jarban Minor, the Chain was starting to look quite frayed...


**Links of the Chain**

"So returns the conquering hero. Well, maybe not conquering. And certainly not a hero."

Ji'nara kept walking, her lessers getting out of her way. Or perhaps the way of the highlord, who followed her through the corridors of the carrier.

"I can't say I'm too surprised though," Alarak continued. "Heroes can be so very tedious. They insist on doing the 'right,' rather than the 'necessary' thing. No sense of priority. And they can be so smug as well."

"You dare speak of being smug, you-"

"Such careless words," Alarak said, following Ji'nara onto the bridge, his pace still matching her own. "Well, take heart. You're not a hero. You are, however, turning out to be insubordinate at best, and incompetent at worst."

Ji'nara turned to face the highlord. He faced her in turn, his eyes glowing in the gloom.

"Is that all?"She asked.

"Perhaps."

She looked around the bridge at her fellow Tal'darim. Loyal, capable warriors. Individuals who would nonetheless stab her in the back in a heartbeat if not for the edicts of Rak'Shir.

"Leave us,"she said to them. "The highlord and I must discuss matters."

Without word or thought, her fellow protoss obeyed. In moments, only the highlord and first ascendant remained.

"So is that all?" Ji'nara asked.

"Perhaps."

"I would prefer an answer."

Alarak chuckled. "And you think you're entitled to one." He walked past her – past consoles, past drones, right up to the end of the bridge, to where the Ba'nay system lay, the world the terrans called Jarban Minor included. Dark, gloomy, isolated. Like most of space.

"You expected me to fail, didn't you?" Ji'nara asked.

Alarak remained silent.

"You let me take our warriors in the belief that the terran would still succeed on that world." She walked up to him. "We could have eradicated the terrans in a heartbeat."

"We could have. But I'd prefer not to discard a shikma while its blade is still sharp."

"Their blade is not sharp."

"And yet you bleed." He turned to her. "Ji'nara, in the sorrowful event of my death, should it come to pass, you will become highlord. I assure you, you would give my soul no respite if you continue to make me wish you'd died on Slayn so I might have a better successor."

Ji'nara's eyes flashed. "My actions on Slayn kept the Tal'darim intact."

"And kept you alive." Alarak flexed his fingers. "Whatever your level of intelligence, never suppose that I am below it."

Ji'nara just stood there. Psionic energy crackled in the air. The stars continued their celestial dance. Alarak's mind danced with the grace of a solar wind – unable to comprehend, unable to capture.

"To answer your question, I had no expectations." Alarak let out a chuckle. "Well, I did expect you to fail – any Tal'darim who followed you on that world despite my wishes aren't worth keeping in the fold. So, now the terran has her terrazine, and their blades will be pointed at the so-called Defenders of Man. At the least, they'll draw blood. At best, they'll defeat our foes for us."

"I fail to see how that is 'for the best,'" Ji'nara said. "Those primitives attacked _us_. The humans slaughter each other with impunity. We, at least, can take honour in eradicating those who wrong us."

Alarak's eyes flashed. Slowly, he said, "You seek blood, as the hunter of old seeks the bengalaas. That's good. If not, I might have found a replacement for you already."

Ji'nara kept her thoughts under control as best she could.

"But even the hunters of old made offerings to the omharra. So, you shall either toe the line for the rest of this matter, or you'll understand exactly what 'sacrifice' means."

"And what does it mean?" she shot back.

"It means that I make an example of you."

An image flashed in Ji'nara's thoughts. In body and mind, she recoiled. In body and mind, Alarak glowed.

"Well then," the highlord declared. "This has been a most enlightening conversation." He strode past her, Ji'nara stepping out of the way before he barged into her. "Keep your blades sharp, my subordinate."

Ji'nara didn't answer. She wanted to say, "I shall," or, "my bane blades do not require an edge apart from my rage." But she remained silent. They would be nothing but words in a vacuum – unheard, uncared for. And in the end, it would count for nothing. She had been bested twice by lesser species. She still had her position on the Chain, however frayed the links had become. She would have to act rather than speak, if those links were to be repaired.

So she remained on the bridge, in the dark. Looking out to the darkness, even as her fellow warriors filtered back in. All silent. All watching in smug contempt. And yet, she remained.

She remained there for a long time.


End file.
